


cure me of this void

by msdarkcircles



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, F/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Post-Resident Evil 3 Remake, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering, carlos being a damn sweetheart, horror porn, it's been so long idk how to tag anymore, slight breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdarkcircles/pseuds/msdarkcircles
Summary: He doesn’t know he’s already dead, just another body under her killing hands. Ribs winking white from his sides, collarbones and cheekbones exposed: mountain-ridge lines skewing and cracked. She decides then, that this is goodbye, how she will say her farewell. Facing down her fears: loving him and losing him.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	cure me of this void

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up months late to this fandom with starbucks* hey y'all what's poppin

The sweet smell of herbs is thick in the air, an earthy perfume that muddles Jill’s unpleasant headache. Her head is bent over the steaming teapot simmering on her stove top; she inhales deeply: lavender, lemongrass, and mint. A quiet pang is plucked inside her heart— making tea always reminds Jill of her mother.

She fingers the thin, silver pendant on her necklace, the metal cool against her fingertips. _Dearly departed and desperately missed, Mom,_ she thinks, _and god do I wish you were here to tell me what to do._

The tea kettle begins its high staccato shrieking, and Jill’s thoughts dart away like startled fish, diving deep beneath the surface of a pond. Her movements are sluggish as she reaches for a coffee mug, and her voice is groggy as she grumbles at the offending noise. “Hold on, I’m coming, Jesus.”

Her fingers fumble the mug out of the cabinet, and her nose wrinkles at the dark stain around the rim. “God, I’m such a bachelor.” She tilts the cup to examine the inside—

_eyes blink—_

_red and weeping—_

the mug drops, slowly: slow motion shattering on the floor.

“What the fuck,” she mumbles, her head painfully foggy. Her hand scrabbles for the gun that is no longer on her person, and comes away empty.

The white porcelain scattered across the dirty linoleum has lined up into a toothy grin.

Her heart shudders inside her, her instincts uncoiling in her mind. She shifts backwards, making small steps out of the bright lit kitchen and into the sepia dim of the rest of her apartment. “Alright, Valentine, breathe and think. Walk yourself through this. You’re safe, you’re alone, you haven’t been bit by anything—“

Her steps falter. She hadn’t, had she? Been bitten by anything? “Fuck. When did I come home?” Her throat is scratchy with fear, and the barbed floor’s smile sharpens. The kettle is still screeching, filling her head with sirens and screams.

Her straining ears nearly miss a warning crackle of static; the untouched radio near her bedside spits to life. _“Attention all citizens, the missile strike on Raccoon City will occur in just hours. The payload is designed to eradicate all biological material. You will not survive—“_

_eradicate—_

_not survive—_

Raccoon city is nothing but a crater.

_But you knew that already, didn’t you?_

Air will not come into her lungs. Her chest is swelled like a balloon, her breathing fervent and fast, but air will not come. “Why can’t you just leave me be?” Her voice cracks, stretching pitch to be heard over the crying teapot, as it mists red into the air. “Let me be, fucker!” 

The floor opens its filthy maw, and begins to laugh at her.

“I killed you!” she screams. The world tilts, the floor angles down, and Jill falls towards the open mouth. “I fucking gunned you down, you son of a bitch!” Her boots fight against the slippery floor, her hands curled into claws, seeking traction. Heat flares under her palms, _sharp and raw_ , and she yanks them back, displays them before her eyes.

_—pulpy open lesions wink, pulsing cuts ooze, red veins curl and bulge, spider tendrils darken and creep, ice water and fever heat racing through the limbs—_

"No," she breathes, terror thrumming in her throat. "No, please—“

The kettle is no longer whistling steam: _bleeding voices, raucous screams, undead wailing under her blade._

Her skin begins to stretch, to warp. Her bones begin to melt, to merge, grinding and cracking. “No!” She claws at her own face. “No! I won’t be what you want! I won’t be one of those things!”

The laughing mouth is waiting, full of broken teeth, and even as she tears at her skin, at the growths, at the ice fire beneath, she feels herself falling in, falling underneath.

_She—_

_can’t—_

_stop—_

_falling—_

"Jill!"

Feeling, in her shoulders—

"Jill, _Dios mio_ , please—“

Shaking, moving, her body, her body moving—

"Jill, please! Wake up! Wake up!"

Air slams into her chest, lungs drowning in denied oxygen. Light rolls across her eyes, glare white, UV vibrant. Smell comes trickling in: cheap soap, moth-eaten carpet. Warmth bleeds into her limbs; there is a body wrapped around hers, sweat-soaked, shaking.

"... Carlos?" she croaks, voice like wet cement, sludgy and rough.

His body sags, pulling her closer, a cool breath exhaled on her neck. "Jill, thank God."

"Am I..." She takes stock of her surroundings: a shit-hole apartment hideout, with ration wrappers on the table, shower towels on the floor, and two twin beds shoved together, so they could sleep back to back. "Am I in your lap?"

His grip loosens, and he lets her lean back to look at him. His face attempts sheepishness, but he's too haunted to quite manage it. "Sorry. You were thrashing like anything. I thought you were gonna hurt yourself."

"Oh." She looks down— he's brushing the thumb of his right hand over the swell of her hip. “I’m sorry. I dreamed I was turning… turning into one of them.”

“I know,” he says roughly, and the hollow ring in his tone tells her he dreams of the same.

“Sometimes I think I can still feel it itching under my skin,” she whispers, bringing her hands to her face, hiding in their warm cavern.

“It’s out, Jill. It’s over. You’re safe.”

“Is it?” Her heartbeat won’t stop thudding, adrenaline still hot in her limbs. Her eyeballs feel sore, stretched, and she’s afraid to keep them open. “Am I? I was the first one to ever use the vaccine, Carlos. It’d never been tested before.” She wishes she could peel off her skin the way she did the dirt and dust and sewage. It had been _in_ her. That parasitic monster. She’d felt it, trying to take control of her limbs, fogging up her brain, filling her cells with poison.

“Jill, I’ve been holding you for hours. Nothing’s happened. I promise.”

An ember sparks in her belly. Not enough to set a blaze, not enough to chase away the terrors within, but something all the same. “Hours?”

“You’ve been in and out of it awhile.” The hand on her hip moves to her hair, smoothing back the sweaty strands from her face. “Believe me, Jill, it’s all you. All beautiful you.”

He must be exhausted, for his mouth twists to a wry grimace on the last words, as if he hadn’t meant to say them.

She stares at his face, all of _beautiful him_. Even dying he was a vision. She winces, heartbeat thrumming in her ears again. It breaks out of her, the confession, like parasites, like poison. “I dreamed you tried to kill me.”

Carlos jerks, recoils at the very thought. “Jesus Christ.” He traces the bridge of her nose, eyes soft and dusky like golden smoke. “I’m sorry.”

“You begged me to kill you.” She doesn’t know why she can’t stop the words, falling from her mouth, filthy and squirming like maggots. She screws her eyes shut, unable to look at him. “Even while you turned, you begged me to end it, to save myself.”

Quiet. Yawning and ambient, like a reprieve gone on too long, like peering around every looming corner, waiting for the next attack.

“I would,” he rasps. “I would tell you to do that.”

She gives a frustrated cry, kicking out at nothing, like a child in a tantrum. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to become one of them! But I can’t give up. I can’t stop chasing Umbrella. They have to pay for what they did.” She shudders, curls into him, nuzzling her face into damp, humid cotton. “But if I do… there’s no guarantee I won't get infected again.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he swears, hands gripping her shoulders, pulling her around to face him. “You hear me, S.T.A.R.S? Not on my fuckin’ watch.”

She can’t hear him over the noises in her head. _Growling, moaning, agonized whining, the senseless slurping of bone marrow and flesh._ It plays like a nightmare track in her head: _boots slapping against wet cement, feral dogs barking behind a chain link fence, her name on Carlos’ lips— broken, frightened._

“Why’d you have to get so attached?” she asks him, her skull spinning: a fevered merry-go-round, playing the sounds faster and faster. “I don’t want you to follow me into death.” She takes his sweet face in her hands, seeing ruptured skin and veining poison underneath the deceiving veil of darkness. “Don’t follow me, Carlos. Please, don’t.”

“Fuck that.” His mouth is so close. _She wonders if he will bite her, dig canines through her skin._ “I ain’t leaving your side ever again.”

“Please,” she asks again, ducking her head so they are cheek to cheek. “I don’t want you to die.” Her lips move against the curve of his ear _and she wonders if she will bite him._ _Did the parasites leave a need to feed on flesh?_

“Then I won’t.” He’s holding his breath as she moves closer to him, their torsos aligned, her legs hooking over his. “Simple as that.”

 _He doesn’t know he’s already dead, just another body under her killing hands. Ribs winking white from his sides, collarbones and cheekbones exposed: mountain-ridge lines skewing and cracked._ She decides then, that this is goodbye, how she will say her farewell. Facing down her fears: loving him and losing him.

He senses a change in her expression; her features shuttering, hiding despair and determination. “Baby, don’t shut me out. I couldn’t stand it if you—“

“Shh,” she hushes him, pushing down on his chest, _feels the ribs give_ , lowering him onto the mattress.

“Jill,” he protests, but he goes down, eyes trusting, legs uncrossing, hands clenched in the bedspread. He is half-hard when she settles against him, and it helps; it helps this feel less like a dream about to go wrong, _less like the corpse fucking it is._

She doesn’t bother with removing their clothes. _All she’ll see is gashes and claret crevasses on her chest and his._ She slides her hand into his sweats, slips the other into her shorts.

“Jill,” he gasps, as her fingers grip around him. His head falls back, hair spreading out, a twilight lion’s mane, magnificent and shining. _There’s a crack at the bottom of his chin, a window to a crawling, writhing chasm._

She fingers her clit, fighting the nausea-pit in her stomach with sparks of pleasure. Her shorts are damp despite the tightness in her throat, the graveyard worms in her belly. _Gray pallor ghosts over their skin with each cloud-coverage of the moon; she fights the rigor mortis in her limbs._ Her fingers dip inside her pussy, muscles clenching on the intrusion, and she gasps.

Carlos’ cock jerks in her hand. “Don’t leave me down here alone, super cop,” he says, trying for teasing, but only sounding lost and uncertain. He reaches for her, but stops short of touching, waiting for permission.

“Stay put,” she says, short and desperate. _His nails are chipping off, the beds raw, minced._ “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this. Tell me to stop.” She wants him to tell her. This is wrong. This is messed up. This isn’t how she should be dealing with this.

“I want you,” he says, hand dropping back into the sheets. Neither denial or acceptance. “Whatever you want, you take.”

She nearly sobs, she nearly stops, but once she’s started something, she follows it to its end. Nemesis found that out damn quick. Nikolai too. But she shouldn’t be doing this to _him._

Her cunt is twitching now, muscles spasming, warmth in her belly, ready for more. She draws him fully out of his sweats, not looking, keeping her eyes held on his. That might be worse, might be; he’s breathing heavy, lips parted, pure reverence. _She can see a tentacle, clenching around the cords of his neck, has to close her eyes or risk choking his dick._

“Here’s how this goes,” she grits out, “you don’t move, you don’t buck your damn hips even a little bit, unless I say so. I’m gonna ride your dick how I like it, and you’re gonna take it.”

“Yes ma’am.” His swallow clicks in his throat. _Click, click, click, out of bullets. Click, click, click, they’re closing in. Click, click, click, your knife is hitting bone and they still get up again._

Her muscles tighten, gummy elastic, a rubber band stretched too thin. “Fuck,” she mutters, losing the rocking rhythm of her fingers inside herself and around him. “Fuck it.” She pulls aside the crotch of her shorts, guides the head of him against her clit.

“Holy shit.” His hands fly up, curl in his own hair, tugging, desperate. “Wanna touch you, baby. Fuck, I wanna touch you so bad.”

She drags the tip of him through the wetness of her slit, and his breath catches, stutters, releases as a whine. _Feral dogs behind a chain fence. Bullets spray against their pelts. Whimpers as they go down._

She presses Carlos inside, too fast, too large, maybe tearing. She eats up the pain, forces herself further down, teeth grinding, acid tears in her tired eyes. She spits on her hand, slicks it along the base of him, and _feels_ his legs tremble, his heels digging in against the urge to move.

“Jill, oh fuck, _Jill_ .” Every centimeter down brings another strangled utterance of her name. Slicker now, she takes him in, rocking down onto his pelvis, wiry hair brushing against her inner thighs. It smells like sex now, cloudy, human, alive. _Almost drowns the rotted flesh, the gasoline, the sewer spillage._

Her hands balance on his chest, leaning over him, bringing their faces close. She drives her hips harder, faster, watches as the light in his eyes goes hazy, watches the loose gape of his mouth. _Stares down the white, bloodshot pupils. Reminds herself corpses aren’t warm._

This coupling will be quick and vicious, she’s dragging a climax out of them both. Clenching around him, drawing heat from her belly, hurrying it on. Every stroke nudges deep, meets the inner wall, thrums against her cervix. It’s close, she can feel it fissure in her gut, _but the room still stinks of rot. Her mind is still lost in the twisting city streets, everything dying, everything burning_.

“Carlos,” she says, voice mangled and wanting. “ _Move._ ”

He’s a bow string released, thrumming with tension redirected. He brings her to his chest, and the world spins as he flips her on her back. His body curves around her, protective, his face burying in her hair, affectionate. He positions himself to slide in again. Goes slow. Painfully slow. Like time has no meaning. _Like the shadows aren’t full of dead things. Like the room isn’t on the verge of swallowing them._

“My turn,” he whispers, stretching her, weight bearing down, her legs sprawled open to let him in. The snap of his hips is fast and brutal, jarring her head against the mattress. His thrusts hit _right there_ , right where she wants it, and his cockhead drags over the spot as he pulls out again, slow as molasses.

“Carlos,” she begs, wanting him to keep up the pace, hating the time to think, to see, to be, in-between his heady strokes.

He won’t be deterred. He draws out, brings her down, he slams in, hikes her higher. He kisses her, in the between-seconds, on her forehead, under her chin, each cheek and eyelid. _She can feel blood on his lips, gristle in his teeth. It makes her hungry. It makes her sick._

He’s murmuring to her- _sweetheart, baby, gorgeous, honey-_ enamored worship. It jacks her even higher; she gets her legs wrapped around him, pulling him in, sweaty and slick against her chest. _Corpses don’t whisper sweet-nothings, either._

“Bite me,” she suddenly demands, and he pulls back, refusals already perched on his lips. “Bite me, Carlos,” she hisses, drawing her muscles tight, clenching down on him. Her fingers fist in his hair, pulling him to her neck. “Hard as you can without breaking skin.”

The logical caveat seems to be enough for him, for he nuzzles her, once, twice, then digs his blunt teeth in.

She screams. Thrashes. Fear washing through her like a fire-flood.

Carlos lets go, tries to draw back, shakes against her legs as she pins him where he is. “Jill, please.” There are tears in his voice, and it wrecks her, makes her feel vile and twisted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she soothes, hands running down his back, tangling in his soaked shirt. “I know that. Just… one more time. Please.”

He growls, wet and yearning, but does as she asks.

She’s ready this time, for the fear, the visions, the sounds: _ripping, tearing, glutton smacking, gullet heaving, choking down hunks._ Her legs are a vice around Carlos’ hips, she holds him deep, burning hot in her core. The pierce of his teeth turns from terrible to pleasurable, her horror mixing with lust, creating a climax.

It rushes upwards, taking control of her limbs, stringing them taut. She has no mind but for what she wants. She drags Carlos’ hand to her throat.

His eyes are haunted, cheeks wet, but he presses into her, presses down, cuts off her air, hits the core of fire in her as she burns.

She chokes, terrified, tentacle ropes holding her aloft. She looks into the face with no eyes— and lets herself come.

Her cries, her climax, her wandering, grabbing hands draw him with her as she rides the waves: not one, not two, but many. Their foreheads knock, their lips meet, he pulses inside her; there is warmth, trickling warmth, in her cunt and on her cheeks.

They are both crying. When she opens her eyes… his face is _all_ that she sees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always appreciated, and if you want to chat with me you can find me on tumblr at katieamnesiaandrews. (Title is from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972; 'Continuity' by Alejandra Pizarnik.) 
> 
> (Also, I am a poor college student with many loans so if you like my work and feel inspired to help me out, here is my kofi! https://ko-fi.com/msdarkcircles)


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